Someone To Fall Back On
by PrettyLittleHuman
Summary: What happens when a notoriously selfish girl newsie steals a customer from the infamous Jack Kelly? Find out as the two partner up for the Strike, help each other along the way, and the story of their life together. Jack/OC Rated T for Rape, violence, and beatings.


Chapter 1

New York, The Big Apple. No matter how many statistical reports, articles, or interviews you see you'll never really know the people.

As statistics of visiting, residents, or dreamers of New York, those numbers are only numbers. Even if it's about real people, its meaningless unless you meet the people, then they become real.

You can't understand people by one or two factors; you can only get an idea.

One of these New Yorkers was just like that; she was all one factor in the eyes of the people: Selfish.

Her name was Carolina Hunter, a girl newsie who never stayed in one place too long.

Nowadays, you'll her statistically there were 1 in 15 girl newsies in New York; you'll probably hear they even dressed up at boys sometimes to fit in better, and that's true.

Not for Carolina! Carolina was all femme fatale, and she milked it for all it was worth.

She had beautiful long waist-length hair that was chestnut colored and always braided to hide split ends and uneven pieces. An angled, fair-skinned face with a beauty mark on her jaw line, and pale blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.

Since she lived on the streets and was very frugal, she only had one outfit; a worn-in grey newsie cap, a fluffy white school shirt that was rolled at the sleeves and tied at the waist, brown trousers that were made from a brown skirt, and no shoes.

Despite her dirt covered clothes, and poorly washed face, anyone could tell Carolina was beautiful.

But if any other newsie, girl or boy, saw her on the streets they generally ran for the hills!

Because Carolina would do anything to sell and get her money, including sell out her fellow newsies for their customers.

Every newsie has their bits; some juggled their newspapers, others pretended they were sickly, and a couple just made up headlines.

Carolina was no exception to this; she would pick out some particularly bored or gullible looking rich folk, and convinced them she was a true witness to some stories in the paper. She would make up a story, and learned to speak with just enough detail and realism, they paid her almost 40 cents most days!

One day, Carolina was hanging around New York after her trip to the Bronx. She soon came by a pub she sold at when she was there, drunks she found, were some of her best customers.

But as she was working one end of the pub, a boy named Jack Kelly and his two new partners were on the other end.

Jack was the leader of the Manhattan newsboys; cocky, brilliant, loyal, handsome, and charismatic were his best and most winning traits. He used every one of them to become the minor success he was.

His bit was that he made up headlines, and he still managed to sell over 100 papers a week.

He'd recently taken on two new protégés Les, a boy near ten, and Les's seventeen year old brother David. The brothers started work when their father was fired from a factory; they partnered up with Jack to train them, splitting the earning 60/40.

They stopped by the pub and sold their papers speedily, much quicker than Carolina could.

"Hey dere Hannin' how you doin'?" She asked one of her usuals there.

The man, Hanning, smiled at her, "I'm doing well Carolina. But I'm afraid I've already bought a paper today."

"What?"

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't know you were in town. But do you mind helping me find a page? The boy who sold me this told me about a story in there about a massive bonfire!"

Carolina looked confused, "Bonfire?"

She opened the paper to the page he mentioned, and saw something like, 'Local Bonfire Scares Seagulls'. Recognizing the trick, she looked around until she found Jack, trying to sell to a well-dressed man in a top hat. He'd been convincing the man to buy and read about a bonfire where thousands fled in panic.

She curled her lip in anger stomping over to them, shouting just loud enough for the two men to hear, "You son of a bitch! You think 'cause I'm a goil, means you can come ova' ta my turf and sell your papas?"

The man was shocked at her behavior, but he asked, "What are you talking about Miss?"

"I'll tell ya Sir! This boy 'ere came around just yesta'day sellin' papes. Bein' an unda'standin' lady, I told him I'd turn a blind eye if he moved along- But look what's happened!"

Of course, Carolina had never even _seen_ Jack before, but she was determined to make her sale.

Then again so was Jack.

"'Scuse me Mista' but I've neva; seen dis goil-"

"Forgive me Sir, but you strike me as a smart man; how would you feel if some joker came around your business selling bullshit headlines?"

"Headlines?"

"Yeah, headlines. See my papes, they're the same as his, but turn to the page he mentioned-" She watched Jack's face flush as she flipped through her paper, "No such story 'ere."

The man turned to Jack with an appalled look on his face, "Young man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage of this honest young lady." He turned to Carolina with a smile, "I'll take one of _your_ papers dear."

Jack's mouth slacked as he saw the man hand her a whole dime for the paper! She smiled to the man, and gave a smirk to Jack as she disappeared in the crowd.

Jack tried to follow, but the men in the pub drinking and crowding around each other made it impossible. David later came up to him, asking about the commotion, to which Jack replied,

"That was just some snitch. If youse see that goil again lemme know."

* * *

The boys had a full day of selling papers, running from a man named Snyder, and watching a performance from a vaudeville actress named Medda-whom had been a longtime friend of Jack's.

As they walked down the streets of New York, Jack caught sight of Carolina walking with another wealthy-looking man. He told the boys to wait for him while he walked towards her.

"What happened at that Trolley Strike?" The man asked urgently.

"I don't know Sir," she shook her head, "The bulls paid me a pretty penny to keep dese things unda' wraps. Now I don't know about you but that penny paid for breakfast, lunch, _and _dinna'."

The man reached into his pocket and put 20 cents in her hand. She examined the coins as she sighed, "I guess it'll do."

She began her tale, "Last night, some a 'dem Trolley boys brought 'dere goils and kids. I guess they figured big numbers might help their cause. Anyway, it got rough- and I mean _rough_. The bulls came to break up the party, and when da goils tried to get 'dere men out, those officers took a few swings at 'em."

"No, they're officers of the law! They wouldn't harm a woman!"

"They would and more; they knocked around some of da kids when they got in the way. Maybe them trolley boys shoulda' left dem goils home, but the bulls were the ones who took a swing at them."

"What happened next?"

She scratched her neck, "I don't know Sir, I'm sayin' too much as it is-" He placed another twenty cents in her hand, so she continued, "Well, I was watching you know. And I saw some kid huddlin' in a corner, but when I went ta help. They took a swing at me too. I'll show ya."

She hiked up her sleeve to reveal a huge bruise on her shoulder, with a fresh scab in its center.

The man's eyes widened as he looked at the bruise. Once he came back to his senses, he reached into his pocket yet again, handing her a dime before saying his goodbyes.

Jack stared her down as she smirked at her earnings, "I've neva' seen you around 'ere before."

She stopped, looking at him, "I got 'ere last night."

"Then you woulda' seen me, or vise versa. Because I watched that Trolley Strike from beginnin' ta end. And there were no goils nor kids 'dere."

She smirked, "Well, we all got our bits don't we?"

"So what, you just sell out the rest of us woikin folk?" He sneered.

"Oh, like youse don't already."

"When they cross our own, we don't sell out our fellows."

"Too bad I'm a rogue, I ain't with anyone."

"Yeah, but you live here don't ya?"

She spread out her arms, "Welcome to my flat! The world is my place!" she stopped joking, and assured, "I'll be gone in a week, tops."

"Well since ya 'ere, youse betta' start respectin' us boys."

"Oh because I'm a goil."

"No, as a matta' of principle." He argued, "We've all got mouths ta feed, and some more than others."

"Their mouths ain't my problem. I've got my own mouth, and it eats just fine the way I woik."

"You're way of woik is gonna get you soaked one a dese days."

"What else is new?" She mumbled as she walked off.


End file.
